Purity
by Vixen Argentum
Summary: Oriya is the only one who can get Muraki's lab coat clean. Oriya x Muraki


_A/N: Hello, all. I have been waiting for somebody to write a new Oriya/Muraki fic, but you know what they say. If you want something done, you've got to do it yourself. So here it is. Read and Review please!  
_

_Warning: this does contain sex (like for 3 lines), but it is so implicitly written that I really don't view this as an M rated piece. I know what my M pieces look like. But, if it offends you, I will change ratings. _

_Synopsis: Oriya is the only person who can make Muraki's lab coat clean. _

_Disclaimer: I do not own Yami no Matsuei/ Descendents of Darkness. But if I could somehow figure out a way that I could follow Muraki around on his ummmm adventures, I would be very very happy._

* * *

Oriya held the fabric in his hands, studying it under the light of the silvery moon. It was strange how even the dark stains of the blood seemed to glow under the lunar influence, the scabs not even marring the crisp white beauty of the doctor's coat. He hated those perfect imperfections that clotted in the threads of the doctor's psyche; he wished that they would blemish the splendor of it all. 

Then again, if Oriya got what he wished for, would his prize be worth having at all?

Steam rose from the bathroom. This was the telltale sign that Muraki had finally returned for the night, as if the bloodstained coat flung onto the chair was not enough. Oriya sighed as he rubbed in the detergent and scratched diligently with the brush at the rusty stains that splattered all across the chest. The soap foamed, turning first a light pink, then a red, and finally deep brown. This rainbow of faded crimson made him smile. It was only a small step toward a larger goal.

The fingertips of Oriya's hands were beginning to prune slightly from all of the scrubbing. As deftly as he slashed his opponent with his sword, he shoved the coat under the water. In that one movement, he could silence the residue of the screams left by every victim on the fabric. He had to kill them before they drowned him within their own blood and his one flaw. Love was always a flaw.

The master swordsman raised the garment from the brackish water, snapping the fabric by jerking the shoulders away from one another as fast and as hard as he could. Now there was nothing but purity on the threads. He wondered how long that would last.

He heard Muraki's footsteps echo from the bath hallway, coming in towards the laundry. Oriya folded his work over the drying rack, creasing it down the center with the same timeless precision he always used. It wasn't until he felt the gentle pulsing of the doctor's breathing upon the back of his neck that Oriya turned to face him.

Muraki took the arm of the lab coat with a hand that was just as pale. "A flawless job as ever."

Oriya pulled the sleeve from out of his friend's hand, carefully rearranging it back on the rack. If it wasn't hung just so, the fabric would wrinkle, and all of the magic would be distorted.

"Did you truly expect anything different from me after all these times?" he retorted.

The corners of Muraki's mouth twitched up in a smile. "Most would have just accepted the complement, but you are quite the odd one, Oriya."

Oriya smiled. "I suppose of all people, you would know."

The doctor crossed his arms over his chest. "Of course I do. You have a gift. No matter how hard I try or how hard I scrub, the blood still remains. I cannot change its affinity for me."

"So that is what you see me as?" Oriya raised an eyebrow. He was a precise man, and only precise words were to be used in his company. "I am sure that I could have given this to any of my whores and any of them could have washed it just as well as I can."

Muraki pushed his glasses further up on the bridge of his nose. "You're right, any housekeeping woman could remove the blood. I am sorry. How silly of me." He loved how the dark haired man could cut just as well with his tongue as he could with a blade.

Oriya held out his now dry hand to the doctor. "Come with me. We have much work to do."

"I know."

Oriya pulled the man in closer, letting his crimson lips fall upon Muraki's ghostly ones. He felt the gates of his jaw unlock to allow in Oriya's cleansing tongue. He snaked his arms around his oldest friend; the weight of the beautiful broken man in his arms only made his strength grow.

In the privacy of the master bedroom, Oriya pulled the blinds and closed the shutters so that the moonlight could not reach them there; only the light of fire could expose all of his dark stains. He lit four candles, one in each corner of the room. Muraki watched the shadows sputter on the dark walls, the flames burning like Oriya's eyes.

"No matter how many times you do this, you still come back for more," Oriya whispered. He removed the bathrobe from Muraki, not letting his eyes move from the other man's metallic gaze.

Muraki smiled politely before sliding down to his hands and his knees. "One might say that I am a glutton for punishment," he teased, still looking at Oriya from over his shoulder.

Oriya undid his obi, allowing his kimono to slide to the ground. With his fingertip, he traced the shallow groove in Muraki's back, where his spine arched into his hips. "Very well then. There is nothing that I can do to stop you."

In the flickering darkness, Oriya reforged this favorite sword of sterling again and again. With every thrust, with every breath, he beat out each imperfection in the tempered steel of Muraki's body. After all the sins of the devil could only be cleansed by fire. When the last spot of tarnish deep inside his core was wiped away with a final loving stroke, he heard the scream. Oriya had to smile everytime he heard the shattered cry crash forth from his open mouth, because with those broken tones left the broken man. Only Oriya knew how to heal him.

The next day, Oriya didn't see Muraki until he was readying himself to leave. Morning practice had forced him to leave the doctor asleep on his futon, but that was something that both had come to expect.

"So soon?" Oriya asked.

"Yes," Muraki answered, looking up at him with half lidded eyes. "Business calls."

Buisness called, but so did pleasure. Oriya knew that Muraki could never separate the two no matter how hard he tried.

Muraki carefully lifted his coat from the rack. Oriya watched as he enveloped himself in the spotless white fabric. Today there were no stains on either the body or the clothes. It was these five seconds of purity in the morning, when Muraki waved goodbye to him that made his efforts worthwhile every time.

Why he let Muraki continue to do this was anyone's guess but Oriya was an excellent businessman. Just like the women in his brothel, he provided his services with a small cost.

Only with Muraki, Oriya was the only one who paid.


End file.
